Amore Amaro
by WolfBane2
Summary: Gaara centric views on various relationships. Love, passion, longing. Sand is not designed to understand such things.


_"Human stupidity, human longing, human weakness. I have underestimated those forever."  
- Peter S Beagle, "The Folk of the Air"_

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It has long been the opinion of the sand ninja Gaara that nine out of ten people his own age are complete and utter fools. Of course, he has no better thoughts concerning the intelligence levels of those younger or older than he. But he has a particular reason in mind when he refers to those in his age group, for lurking unrecognized in the back of these poor loons' minds are the deadly scourge of all between 12 and 19 years: Hormones. The word itself makes his eyes gleam with a disconcerting intensity that gives every unfortunate observer the impression he is about to go for their jugular vein.

In his home village, he is able to more successfully ignore the wretched tendencies of body changes that cause the eyes of his agemates to soften, and their muscles to forget alertness for a moment at the visual appearance of their desired object. To forget yourself for even a second is to be weak. To be weak is to die, if you are in Gaara's presence. It does not take as long as a second to clog someone's entire chest cavity with sand that does not care for anything at all.

But when he traveled to Konoha, the conflicting relationships between the others his age who also took the Chuunin exam were agonizing to watch, to imagine as his own, yet he could not ignore them for their clarity. Many of the agemates appeared ignorant to the invisible ties that shackled them to one another, caging them. How could they not see the weight, how could they bear it? Sand that was bottled became heavy and moist, and died because it was no longer sand that flowed torrid in shapes too miniscule to be bound and quantities too great to be withstood. Captured sand was only a corpse of what once had been. Many corpses.

First and foremost, there was the absurd love triangle between the ones called Uzumaki Naruto, Haruno Sakura, and Uchiha Sasuke. The blond one was headstrong; a torrent of sand knocked loose from a bank, falling endlessly in a mad rush to nowhere. But yes, that one had great power, he could sense it. Fortunately, Naruto himself could not, and as long as that continued, the power would remain untapped. He was glad; he did not like power that was not his own. It took more effort to kill. The one called Sasuke also possessed great raw power, although he knew it, and therefore it was not as monumental. Untapped though Naruto's might have been, he believed that if the two amounts of strength were compared, the Uzumaki's would have come out on top. But it was now, and now Naruto did not know, and therefore Sasuke was the greater threat. The Uchiha knew how to focus power, and possessed magnitudes of grace, accuracy and cunning; the potential perfect ninja. But it was possible for fools to be cunning; cunning and knowledge were entirely different things. Haruno Sakura was not of general interest. She was a satisfactory ninja, but he could kill her without challenge. But he would not; if it did not possess danger, and there was no reason, killing was not joy. To appreciate the exhilaration of killing, you had to face off with someone who could make you brush palms with the dead. Somehow, it seemed to him that you were closer to your victims that way. Being closer meant a more detailed enjoyment of their fear.

The Uzumaki desired the Haruno, though he suspected it was more for enjoyment of an unreachable trophy than actual affection. The Haruno desired the Uchiha with all her being, except the part that mattered. She believed he might someday accept her courtings; Gaara did not know what led her to this delusion. And the Uchiha…he smiled. The sorrow of it all was beautiful to behold. If there was any sort of tolerable love, it was the forsaken kind. The fox to the flower. The flower to the fan. The fan to the fox. The cycle was magnificent in its tragedy.

And of course, there were the less noticeable but equally disdainful connections between others of the age group. The one that resembled a dog, the bolsterous one…Kiba. That was that one's name. The one called Inuzuka Kiba occasionally watched the Hyuuga Hinata for far longer than necessary, and lifted a lip to reveal yellowed teeth in a silent growl as she pined for the Uzumaki Naruto from great distance. The Rock Lee groveled at the feet of the Sakura, while his teammate called Tenten covetously eyed their third member Hyuuga Neji. The female Yamanaka Ino still gazed hopefully at the Uchiha Sasuke, while the Nara Shikamaru rolled his eyes at her antics. Of all the agemates, Shikamaru was the only one whom Gaara was not positive of his alignment to the others. He thought the Shikamaru might desire the Ino, but he was not certain. He intensely disliked being uncertain.

It was disgusting. Every bit of it was absolutely disgusting. Were they so ignorant that they did not realize these longings put them at weakness? If the desired one of another was captured, it would essentially be capturing the first in the same blow, for that one would surrender their will to ensure the desired one's survival. It would be so incredibly easy to do; how could they not see? Perhaps the Hyuuga Neji and the Uchiha Sasuke saw; they were both strong and both insistent that feelings were irrelevant. He had not heard them say it aloud, but they gave it away by how they walked, by the glint of their eyes, even by the flash of their throats as they breathed. But though he was aware that Hyuuga Neji would be a challenge to defeat, to kill, he did not think of the prodigy as the largest threat in the group. And Uchiha Sasuke had already fallen prey to the desire that weakens, though he himself was not aware of it yet. Could that one be handicapped if it had no knowledge of the handicap? He wondered for a moment, but saw no reason to care, because the only reason to care about something was if it might lead to another's death. He did like death.

He _really _liked death.

Love. It was a vain word, used frequently and almost always with no meaning whatsoever. People used it to describe affection towards friends, siblings, pets, even inanimate objects or food. He wished not for friends, and his siblings were to be distrusted, and the only good animal within the home was a roasted one. He refused to give dignity to the objects or food use in the form of an opinion. To add to the irony of it all, the word was inked upon his forehead in a kanji that even blood would never wash away. Love tattooed upon the face of the one whose very name meant death.

A vessel of sand can appreciate the universe's sarcasm.

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Author's Note: (thoughtful) You know, someday I'm going to figure out the point of all these oneshots. Really. What's strange is that I don't even like Gaara, and the reason this fic completely ignores the outcome of the Chuunin exams is due to the slightly embarrassing fact that at the moment, I can't remember who defeated Gaara. (sings to the tune of the Barney song) I love reviews, you love life, do you see this shiny knife…


End file.
